A.Pushkin, To Natalia - Translation (Rus.) - Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

So, Natalia! I admit you, I'm the captivated one, For the first time, shamely, too, I love charms of feminine.All the day, despite of vanity, I think only of you; In the night - the same calamity: In my dreams it's only you, In light gown, kind immensly, Shy and sweet by breathing fine, Shivering in your chest, and asPure snow white and light, Semi-opened your deep eyes, Modest darkness of mute night -All this raise me to delight!

I'm alone in the arbourWith her, virgin lily, thereI'm dumb, I'm trembling, craving...But awakened... Only darkRound the lonely bed is curling! I'm exhaling out a sigh, Lazily the dream's flying upOn its wings, away thus goingThen my passion goes stronger, But I'm tired, and againI'm becoming weaker then.So mind aspires something...What? - No one of usWould say this to ladies loud, But would smear this so fast: I'll express this and at last!

All the lovers wish to haveSomething imperceptible; That's their quality - alas! Putting on the shapeless cloths, With a cap turned on the side, I would like as Philimon, Having waited evening time, When the twilight is all over, Take the gentle hand of girl, Called Anyuta, say to herWords of love, repeating bold, That she does belong to me!

That she just to me belong! Oh, Nazora! I do wish being captivated soBy your looking pretty, moreBeing Trustee of Rosina, Light and tiny in my dreaming, Old stepson of the fate, In the caftan and the wigWith impudent, ardent handTouching white and heavy breast...I'm daring... Anyhow by my feetCouldn't I cross such a sea.Though I'm in love 'to ears', But departed and in fears, Disappointed at all, dear.

But, Natalia! You don't know, Who is then your Seladon, You don't understand, Why so he is shy, and couldn't dare? Oh Natalia! Please hearMe, I'm not the ownerOf Seral, I'm not a negro, Not a Turkish man, indeed, Not a polite chinese man, Not a rude American, Not a German to imagineWith a cap on his big head, With a beer in his mug, With a sigar in his mouth.I'm not a cavalierguardIn a helmet with a sable, I don't like the battle's thunder: An alebard ar even a swordDon't aggravate my handBy the sins of man Adam.

- But, who's you, the talker- lover? Look at walls, that here are towering, Where the darkness mute exists; Look at windows in a grid, At the icon lamp still firing...I'm... monk! Oh my Natalia!